


Who's The Top Now?

by helens78



Category: Atlas Shrugged
Genre: Humor, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-20
Updated: 2002-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you're not The Perfect Hero and don't get the girl, what ARE you going to do?  A parody fic that pokes fun at the sex scenes in "Atlas Shrugged".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's The Top Now?

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my earliest fics. I honestly have no idea what came over me, other than wondering why the most interesting characters in "Atlas Shrugged" didn't end up even in the running for getting the girl. Who was John Galt? Who cared, when you had Hank Rearden and Francisco D'Anconia around?
> 
> (For those not familiar with the books, "______ laughed out loud" is a phrase that seems to happen on every page. My urge to be book-accurate ran up against my urge to maintain a single tense throughout; grammatical consistency won.)

The past tense. She used the past tense. My heart has broken, shattered into a million pieces; and yet somehow I still feel the irrepressible joy of knowing that she lives, she loves, and she has found the perfect man with whom to share her joy...

Oh, fuck THAT. I don't know whether to be jealous of John or jealous of Dagny. But I can't very well SAY so, or they'll kick me the hell out of Atlantis. I'm fucked.

Francisco has invited me over to dinner at his place, and the two of us are more than likely going to crack open a bottle of wine and drown our mutual sorrows. Now I know how he felt when he found out Dagny and I were sleeping together. It must have been just awful, and yet there was that thread of joy running through it, joy that the girl he loved so much was with someone who was actually worthy of the gift of her body. Hrmf. _I_ gave her tons and TONS of Rearden Metal, and all John ever did was get her to crash her plane. I mean, she was HURT, and what does he do? He hires her to be his housekeeper! Good God -- no, scratch that, I don't believe in God. Good John Galt! I guess that's a little better, but it doesn't seem quite right in this situation. I think I'll have to stick with curses like "shit" and "fuck", because otherwise I end up swearing to deities I don't believe in -- where the ~~hell~~ fuck was I when all this started?

Oh, right, I'm going to have dinner with Francisco. He's been Galt's best friend for years, and damn if that doesn't make me jealous, too. I wanted to be Frisco's best friend, damn it. I wanted him to like me, even if I thought for years that that made me evil. Now we're both here, and I'm allowed to call him friend. I can at least take some comfort in that.

I knock on his door, and he calls "Come in!" from inside. The smells are already delightful. I think he must be making some kind of grilled steak. I wonder where we got the meat -- I don't remember our having our very own cattle ranch in Atlantis, but obviously we've got something. Perhaps we finally found a rancher who also lives by our philosophy. Or maybe one of us is learning to raise cattle. Who knows? Who cares?

I walk into his house and he greets me with an overjoyed, enthusiastic smile. So typical of Francisco. Everything seems to make him happy nowadays. I smile back and he gestures toward the kitchen table, indicating I should sit down. I do so and am pleased that I get to watch him cook. He's so efficient; he never has a wasted movement, never does anything wrong. Francisco is another example of the perfect man. If he hadn't appeared to be evil for so long, Dagny might have had some trouble choosing between him and Galt.

Then again, I wasn't evil, and she had no trouble throwing me over.

Hrmf.

"what's that look for, my friend?" Francisco asks, without even looking at me. He smiles as the look disappears, as if he can sense everything I'm feeling now that we're in the same room. He finishes with dinner and arranges the food neatly on two plates, carrying them over to the kitchen table and turning back to his refrigerator to get out wine. We haven't yet gotten to the point when we can make our own wine, since Atlantis isn't very old, but I'm sure our wine will be far superior to this dreck from that altruist-filled European country with all the French people in it. After all, commies never do anything as well as we do. So there.

"I was just thinking about Dagny."

"Again? You really must learn to stop that. Our time with Dagny is over. We were both nice plot devices, but now our job has been done and she's with the epitome of all that's good in man."

"Boy, you don't sound bitter at all, do you?"

Francisco D'Anconia laughs out loud.

"Eat your dinner, Hank," he tells me.

We eat in silence for a little while, pouring wine when our glasses are empty, and finally he says, "Don't you ever wish there were other women in the valley?"

"What do you mean?" I ask. "There's... what's-her-name who's married to Ragnar. And there's... uh... there's some woman who claimed that she came here to practice the profession of motherhood in a way she couldn't in the outside world..."

"Yeah, and they're both married. They're hood ornaments."

Hood ornaments? Oh, yeah, this is the '50s, and people still know what hood ornaments are. "Not a bad metaphor," I admit. "Still, surely there are other women in the valley..."

"Why would we need more than one? Dagny is the essence of all that is female; there'd be no improving on her no matter how many women are in this valley."

"Great," I grumble into my wine.

"But there are other alternatives..."

I don't know what he's talking about at first. He cleans up the dishes quickly and efficiently, his long, lean body standing upright at the sink as he does. He dries them and puts them away in the counter, then pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers me one. I take it, and he lights his own, then comes over and lights mine with the lit tip of his. He blows smoke gently in my direction.

"Other alternatives meaning what?" I finally ask him.

"Well, I've some ideas, if you're really curious."

"Why not?"

With a dangerous look in his eyes, he tosses his cigarette in the sink, then grabs mine away from me -- hey, I wasn't done with that yet! -- and does the same. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt, hauls me out of my chair, and slams me back onto the kitchen table, leaping on top of me and kissing me. His groin presses into mine, and I am instantly hard and ready. What the hell? I shove him backwards.

"This isn't rational!" I shout at him.

"What does THAT mean?" he asks, eyes laughing at me.

"It means that rationally, sex between a man and a woman is... I mean..."

"Oh, like anyone in THESE books is ever going to produce offspring. Puh-LEEZE. Come on, it's not like our original author really liked women at all. She just put Dagny in to give Galt someone to run away with. We might as well go for it -- it's not like there are any other girls in the valley that we can screw."

He has a point. But something still feels wrong. I shrug mentally, and square my shoulders to give this another shot.

This time I pounce him. I grab him by the shoulders and shove him into the wall, grabbing his wrists and pinning them at his sides so he can't move.

"Hey, what gives?" he asks. "I'm supposed to be the top here."

"No, I am."

We look at each other in astonished puzzlement. If the man is always dominant, and we're both men...

"We'll switch," he declares. "I'll go first."

"No, I'll go first."

"No, I'll -- oh, the hell with it, let's flip a coin." He pulled one of our one-dollar gold pieces out of his pocket. "Heads, it's me; tails, it's you..."

"Which side is heads? There's no head OR tail on our coin."

"Oh, um..." He gives it a look. "Dollar sign, it's me; printing, it's you."

"Why do you get the dollar sign?"

"Because it's my coin, and therefore my property, and only I can decide what to do with it! And besides which, I say so!"

He has a point. "Fine," I huff, the huffing only serving to add to my already rampaging arousal. He flips the coin, and it lands dollar sign up. He thrusts his fists into the air in triumph.

"Me first!" he crows. I sigh and let him rip my clothing off, standing almost completely still as he yanks my pants down and bends me over the kitchen table. He gives my ass a good hard slap -- wait a minute, I'm the one who's supposed to do that -- oh, well, perhaps this won't be so bad; at least it's something DIFFERENT from the way I'm used to having sex.

"Stay right there," he orders. "I need to get some kind of lubricant." Luckily, since we're already in the kitchen, he doesn't have to go far. I turn my head to see him holding a bottle of olive oil and grinning.

"Now, we're Objectivists, so for us foreplay is all those speeches we give all the time. Want one?"

"Do the money one again," I plead. Francisco launches into his "money is the root of all good" speech and expertly lubes up my ass. By the time he's finished telling me about how earning money and trading value for value is one of the greatest joys of life, I'm wiggling my ass at him in definite interest. This is actually kind of sexy.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"What the hell are you asking THAT for?"

"Oh, right, sorry," he apologizes, and slams into me in one hard thrust. I scream as my body tries to adjust rapidly to the sensation, but it's like nothing I've ever felt before, and he's slamming into me, over and over, rougher than I imagined.

"Hey, watch it--" I pant. "Can't you slow down a bit?"

"Sorry, Hank, sex only comes in one speed in these books. Just relax; you're really enjoying this, you know."

"If you say so," I grunt. He angles himself a bit differently and suddenly he's pressing on something that Dagny never even looked for. Holy SHIT. What the FUCK is that? Hot damn, it feels good!

"Harder!" I yell, pressing back against him. He laughs and fucks me harder (who knew that was possible??).

"Who do you love?" he asks, hands on my hips, demanding my surrender.

"You!" I yell. He slaps my butt for that one.

"Wrong answer! Who do you love?"

"Uh... John Galt?"

Another hard slap. Actually, I'm starting to ponder the possible benefits of continuing to answer incorrectly. Perhaps this bottoming thing isn't so bad after all.

"No! Who do you love?"

"Me!"

"YES!"

"ME!"

"YES! I LOVE ME, TOO!"

"YES YES YES YES!!!"

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!"

With one last grunting thrust, Francisco spills his male essence into me. Amazingly, thanks to practically superhuman strength, he doesn't fall over or collapse at all. Instead, he yanks himself away from me -- causing me to yelp -- and gives me one last hard slap on the ass.

"Not bad at all," he says. I turn around, letting my pants slip to the floor, as I look at his long, lean, wiry, skinny body, and he looks at my long, lean, wiry, skinny body. He squints at me.

"What?" I ask.

"I was just thinking that other than the fact that you don't look like you've never experienced pain, you look just like John Galt."

"Well, you look just like John Galt only your hair and eyes are darker."

"Yeah, most of the men here look just like John Galt -- we're all tall and thin and have nice hands and squinty eyes." He squints at his hands. "It's like the author only knew one way of describing men."

"Or maybe she only liked one type of man."

"That might explain why a culture that's supposedly full of individualists actually only has one type of person in it."

I laugh at him. Now that we're taking a break in the fucking, I get undressed while he fishes our cigarettes out of the sink, which, mercifully, was empty of water and dishes. He puffs on one and offers me the other. I shake my head.

"But we always have a cigarette after a good fuck."

"True." I grin at him. "But I haven't had my turn yet."

His eyes widen. "Oh."

"Forgot about that, did you?"

"Hank, have you ever...?"

"Of COURSE I have. With Dagny. You remember how I used to say over and over again that we did every perverted thing under the sun..."

"Oh, right. Well, let me get my pants off."

"No." I throw his cigarette back in the sink and shove him face-first onto the table. "You don't need to do anything except lie there and submit."

"But I'm a MAN! I don't know HOW!" he wails.

"Oh, stop whining. I did just fine when it was my turn."

I pick up the oil and lube him up. He puts his hands under his chin and sighs a bit. "How does it feel?" I ask him.

"Really weird. Not bad, though. I don't suppose you can take it slow?"

"Slow meaning what?" I ask, puzzled. "Sex only comes in one speed."

"Yeah, well, normally sex is heterosexual in these books, but we seem to be learning other alternatives, now don't we?"

"Hush, you." I slap his cute little skinny butt -- there, that's much more familiar -- and give it to him right up the ass. Holy shit, that's tight. Francisco has a GREAT ass.

"Ouch!" he yells. "Careful back there!"

"What, like you were careful?"

"Well, at least I gave you one of our foreplay speeches," he grouses.

"You don't WANT one of my foreplay speeches. I'd just end up telling you what a whore you are."

"Oh, good point. Okay, make with the humping."

I give him a good, thorough fuck, and spend myself before much time has passed. Of course, he probably lasted longer. Francisco does everything better than I do. I pull out of him and grab for the cigarettes in the sink, which are by now looking more than a little pathetic. Francisco gingerly turns around and slips out of his clothing.

"Well, that's a new one for me."

"You and me both."

We puff on our pathetic cigarettes for a while, him leaning against the table, me leaning against the counter. He finally looks me directly in the eye.

"This wasn't so bad," he says. "I think I could get used to it. What about you?"

"Well, it sure beats pining after Dagny." I grin at him. "Want to go again?"

Francisco D'Anconia laughs out loud.

_-end-_


End file.
